"I've a little job for you, Peters, if you don't mind going back into the camp," suggested Tom.
"It's not to go back and fight, single-handed, is it?" Mr. Peters asked, with a smile.
"Nothing like it," Tom laughed. "Peters, we have plenty of really good men among our laborers, haven't we?"
"Scores and scores of 'em, sir—-among all three kinds of the men, negroes,
Italians and Portuguese."
"I wish you would go back, then, and pick out two of each race—-six men in all. They must be honest, staunch and able to hold their tongues."
"Do you want them for fighting, sir?" asked Peters.
"Not a bit of a fight in it. I want them to use their eyes and report to me."
"Going to employ spotters on the camp?" asked Mr. Prenter, quickly.
"Not a single spot!" Tom declared with emphasis. "I haven't any use for information turned in by spotters."
"I'm glad to hear you say that, Reade," nodded the treasurer.